Indonesian Gold (60 page)

****

Philippines

General Narciso Dominguez's features froze, struck by the
intensity of the pain, his fist seizing with the excruciating attack crumpling Sharon's most
recent letter, and the
Indonesian Observer
newspaper clipping, into a ball. As the minutes
passed and the severity of the onslaught lessened, the retired Filipino General managed to push
himself upright, away from the desk, the back of his head striking the intricately carved crown
on top of his chair. He cursed, loudly, calling for his manservant, whom he knew hovered outside
the office.
‘Take me… to… my quarters,'
he ordered, his voice barely a whisper.

Earlier, he had asked Alfredo to carry him to his study
where, with gnarled, tortured hands, he penned a response to his beloved niece. He had then
reread her letter written from the Indonesian goldfields, and the attached article, satisfied
that Sharon would succeed.

Within moments, the faithful aide was at his side and
half-carried the General's frail, emaciated body back to his bedroom, where he administered the
tablets as prescribed. He gazed down at the withered form of the once powerful officer, the
cancer now spreading at an alarming rate.
‘Should I call the doctor?'

‘No…'
Dominguez
wheezed.
‘He…will only…insist, on keeping me…alive.'
He closed his eyes – the pain,
thankfully, subsiding as the powerful dosage took effect.
‘You remember… your promise…
Alfredo?'

The loyal guardian's eyes filled with tears.
‘Yes,
General.'

Dominguez's head rolled to one side and attempted a
smile.

‘A man… should be permitted… to die with
dignity,'
he said, the raspy comment barely audible in the solemn
setting.
‘Your… word…my old friend?'
Alfredo took his General's hand and held it as firmly
as he dare.

‘Are… you sure… General?'
the words choked in Alfredo's throat.

A minute passed before Dominguez could muster the strength
to answer.
‘Yes,'
he said, then squeezed Alfredo's hands.
‘It…is time…'
and the
General rested his eyes.
‘Please…fetch…it, now.'

Alfredo released Dominguez's hand, rose to his full
height, stared down at what was left of the man he had served for more years than either could
remember, then left to carry out the dying general's final order.

Dominguez recognized the familiar sounds of Alfredo
opening the locked gun cabinet, relieved that it would soon be over. Accepting that it was only a
matter of days before the cancer killed him, the General had elected to die in his own time.
Alfredo's shadow crossed the room as he returned with the revolver, placing the loaded handgun on
the bedside table. He bent down and kissed Dominguez on both cheeks, streaming tears falling onto
the General's pallid face. Then, without so much as another word he rose to full height, came to
attention, saluted, and whispered,
‘Go with God, General,'
then wheeled around and escaped
before wobbly legs let him down.

General Narciso Dominguez grasped the weapon's handle,
surprised at the weight of the gun. As he lay there contemplating the end to his life, his
thoughts turned to his niece, Sharon, who had so clearly demonstrated that one could always count
on the greed of others. The story of Marcos' gold had been around long enough to provide fertile
ground for the never ending hordes of carpetbaggers and the Kremenchugs of this world. A wry
smile twisted one side of his face as he recalled the speed at which that thief, Kremenchug and
his associates had jumped at the opportunity to defraud others. The Indonesian newspaper had
carried the story of how fiercely Palace interests had competed for control over the gold
discovery, driving the value of his niece's holdings to incredible highs. Although, at first, he
had not been convinced that what she planned was achievable, at least, now, he would leave this
world assured that she would have a bountiful legacy of wealth, to guarantee her independence.
She had cheated the cheaters! And, amused as this thought remained foremost in his mind,
uncontrollable laughter built in his chest, the wheezy cackle noises gasping from his throat
suddenly frozen in midair when he fired the gun.

****

Vancouver

‘I can't take an offer of only twenty percent to the
shareholders.' Fielding's voice started to crack. Embarrassed, he reached for the water
tumbler.

‘It's the best we can do,' Salima shrugged. ‘Look, the
final offer's on the table and, if you reject it, we'll have a team sitting in Jakarta
negotiating directly with the Jakarta authorities within seventy-two hours.'

Kremenchug
and Fielding both
glared at the man, annoyed that the threat was most likely true. Someone in Jakarta had wasted no
time in leaking details of their visit, the Canadian Press clamoring for more information,
immediately upon their return. Before that Monday's trading had closed, Borneo Gold Corporation
stocks had halved, and were still falling at the bell. The directors had called the company
lawyers who confirmed their worst expectations, that P.T. Kalimantan Gold had compromised its
position by not finalizing its application to exploit the deposits discovered. The lawyers had
also advised that, in all probability, they would not succeed in having the matter heard before
an international tribunal, as P.T. Kalimantan Gold was an Indonesian legal entity, and therefore
unlikely that the claim could be taken out of that country's jurisdiction.

The short interpretation being, they were
screwed.

Kremenchug
stole a glance
towards the other end of the boardroom table where Phil Samuels sat quietly, the BGC director
perplexed with Baron Mining's suggested role in the venture. When Samuels had arrived for the
meeting, he'd surprised the BGC directors by announcing that he was present only in the capacity
of observer, and at the request of the Central Asia Pacific Bank. He had then introduced James
Salima and the banker's team, briefly explaining the history of Baron's association with the CAP
group. Before passing the floor to the CAP President, Samuels went on to state that should the
negotiations end on a positive note, Baron Mining would become the appointed operator responsible
for developing the Longdamai mine.

The meeting had commenced badly with Fielding throwing
down the gauntlet even before an offer had been made, followed by the bank president threatening
to walk unless decorum was maintained. James Salima had then effectively taken control over the
meeting, offering his bank's perception of how the situation had evolved, and what remedies might
be available to the BGC group. Kremenchug had to admit that the Chinese-Indonesian's assessment
was accurate, to the point where only insider information could have assisted with such detailed
preparation. When Salima then opened the negotiations with a ‘one-time' offer, the BGC executives
knew, for certain, that they had lost the Longdamai mine. Fielding had not helped the situation,
his less than diplomatic outburst requiring Kremenchug to arrange a brief adjournment, during
which time he attempted to convince the BGC president that there were no other options left for
them to consider.

‘It doesn't really matter what we counter-offer,' he had
explained, ‘the bastards know they have us by the balls.'

‘But, Jesus, Alex,' Fielding had agonized, ‘twenty
percent?'

‘I know, Chris, I know,' Kremenchug had agreed. ‘If we
don't take the deal and the Indonesians assign the rights to someone else, we'll end up with
nothing. The market's suspended trading of our stock until we address their demands for
information. And, if you call and tell them that we have walked away from this offer, you may as
well take all your own stock and options, and paper the fucking office with them – ‘cause ten
minutes after you make any such decision, the scrip will be worthless!'

****

The meeting had been reconvened for mid-afternoon. When
the Commercial Asian Pacific Bank president and his associates were seated, Fielding gave it one
more try.

‘Twenty-five percent, we recover all funds expended to
date, and you have a deal.' The BGC president was reminded by Kremenchug's hand on his shoulder
and added, ‘Subject, of course, to shareholder approval.'

‘The offer remains the same,' James Salima replied,
stubbornly.

Alexander Kremenchug crossed his arms, then unlocked
these, drew a handkerchief from his trousers' pocket and wiped a dry brow, unaware that a
negotiation specialist with the other side made another mental note of his body
language.

‘It's nowhere near reasonable,' Christopher Fielding
argued, ‘we're miles apart and
that
distance is growing!'

‘You've got less than a couple of million invested,' James
Salima came back. ‘We're offering to reimburse all of that, and still leave you with a handsome
stake in the venture.'

‘What, twenty percent?' Fielding scoffed. ‘The last time I
looked, BGC owned all of the stock!'

‘Which could end up being worthless, if the Indonesian
Mines & Energy Minister gets his way,' another implied, his team agreeing beforehand to
repeatedly hammer this point.

‘We still have the option of taking them to the courts,'
Kremenchug rejoined the discussion, raising the issue of litigation once more.

‘We've been down that path, already,' the banker reminded
them, wearily. ‘You'd lose.'

Fielding looked over at Kremenchug before his eyes swept
the table, then fell to the floor. It was all over and they both knew it. In less than a week the
value of the company's stock had plunged by more than a billion dollars. They were beaten. He
lifted his gaze and nodded. ‘Okay,' he sighed heavily, ‘but it's still subject to shareholder
approval.'

James Salima's face in no way reflected his pleasure. He
thanked both Christopher Fielding and Alexander Kremenchug for their support, then went on to
outline the conditions relating to their proposed acquisition of P.T. Kalimantan Gold, and the
company's Longdamai gold deposits.

****

Kremenchug
had heard women
swear before, but nothing that could match the invective that poured down the line from the
Longdamai camp when Sharon Ducay learned the news. He had tried, desperately, to persuade her
that not all was lost. Finally, having vented her anger, Sharon gradually cooled down.

‘You should have come over to the site when you were in
Jakarta. We might have been able to sort something out.'

‘We couldn't get through.' Kremenchug had, in fact,
tried.

‘Did you talk to Baird?' Sharon challenged, suspicion
evident in her tone. ‘No, we…'

‘Don't lie to me, Alexander Kremenchug!' her voice faded
as atmospherics played with the rhythmic flow of voice through space, ‘…and if you think that I
don't know you're playing some game…'

‘I'm not, Sharon, listen, I've got some…'

‘No,
you
listen, Alex,' she snapped harshly. ‘I
know
you. This couldn't have happened unless you've done a deal with those bastards!' Her
accusation hung heavily in the air – Kremenchug desperate to persuade her that not all was lost.
He braced himself, deciding to drop the news of her uncle's death. Sharon, I'm sorry. There's
more. They've been trying to contact you from Manila.'

‘What?' he heard her voice drop a level.

‘I'm afraid there's bad news. Can you hear me
clearly?'

Their radio connection offered nothing but satellite hum,
Kremenchug trying to imagine her standing in the Longdamai office – uncomfortable with having to
inform her of Dominguez's death.

‘Sharon?'

‘My uncle?'

He braced himself, again. ‘Yes, I'm very sorry. We had a
call from Alfredo, just an hour ago.'

‘He's dead?'

‘Yes. The General passed away in his sleep.' Kremenchug
had not been given the truth.

‘I see,' was all she managed to say.

‘You will want to be there, for the funeral?'

‘Yes,' she said, emphatically and then, ‘No,' which,
moments later, was followed by a more measured tone and, ‘I'm not sure.'

‘Can I do anything for you, from here?'

‘No.'

‘Sharon, if there is…'

‘His death doesn't change anything, Alex.'

Kremenchug
expected that her
judgment would be impaired by her loss. ‘I'm sorry that you had to hear it all from
me.'

This was followed by an uncomfortable delay. Then Sharon
responded, and he could detect the sadness in her voice. ‘I'm sorry for the outburst, Alex. I
haven't got my head together, right now.'

Immediately, his confidence was restored. ‘Let me know
what you want to do about going to Manila, Sharon. I could meet you there?' The suggestion was
greeted with mute response. He waited, hoping that she might be considering his offer. With
General Dominguez dead, and the uncertainties relating to BGC's reduced position in the
Indonesian gold mine, his attention turned to their original plan. She would still need his help
to launder the General's gold. They could arrange another concession, perhaps in a different
province, and put the project back on track.